


Like the Moon Pulls the Tide

by horologiiums



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-15 17:49:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21257219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horologiiums/pseuds/horologiiums
Summary: The war was taking its toll on their bodies and minds. Byleth found solace on Claude’s lips, as did he on hers.





	1. Rising

If she were to be asked how it started, Byleth would have been unable to provide a feasible answer.

She had been unable to sleep, which was nothing new ever since her awakening in the river south of Garreg Mach Monastery. Five years she had slept and when she awoke, Fódlan was but a remnant of what it once was. Villages torched to the ground, skirmishes breaking out every few days, calculated assaults on strategically advantageous strongholds erupting only weeks apart from each other. The continent had become entirely ravaged, consumed by a merciless war for the five years in which Byleth slumbered, all for the sake of one woman’s ambitions.

When the realization of it all finally dawned on her, it felt more like a punch to the gut than a formless, enlightening epiphany. It generated an unforgiving fear in her very being that, if she were to fall asleep again, she may not awaken until another five years had passed. All of her friends could be dead when she next rose. Or Fódlan could become a barren husk, devoid of life. She would be helpless, useless to change anything. The mere thought of the unending possibilities was unbearable and it caused Byleth’s chest to twist in agony.

She feared sleep, feared the pitch blackness that accompanied it. And so she once again found herself on the terrace of the highest level of the monastery.

Byleth leaned on her forearms that she settled on the stone ledge, overlooking the church from high above. Evening was waning into night, the crescent moon already materializing into view over the horizon. The soldiers on the ground far below her were leisurely strolling about, having finished their training and tasks for the day. They would be returning to their personal quarters soon, she thought, and they would fall asleep before dusk truly set in so they could awaken bright and early the following day.

A loud yawn escaped her, eyes watering, as if her body was screaming at her to turn in for the night as well. She refused to entertain the notion; her weariness was intense but her anxiety proved stronger.

She was blinking the tears out of her eyes when a voice sounded from behind her and she jumped, caught off guard.

“That was quite the yawn, my friend.”

Byleth looked over her shoulder, saw that Claude had appeared from what seemed like out of nowhere. He stepped outside onto the terrace and made his way over to her.

“No one was supposed to hear it…” Byleth muttered regretfully, turning back around. That only earned her a laugh from Claude as he settled next to her, copying her stance against the stone ledge. He had always been slightly taller than her so his lean was a tad more exaggerated than hers. Still, he looked comfortable and she couldn’t chastise him for that.

“If you’re tired, you should go to bed.”

His words made sense, she _should _have slept every moment she had the chance to do so. But Claude didn’t know about the demons that tormented her, the terrors that plagued her every time the moon rose high in the sky and her eyelids grew heavy. She had tried convincing herself many times that it would be safe to make him aware of her problems. She trusted him deeply, after all, and she knew that he wasn’t the type to belittle her over something like personal trauma. But she worried about showing that weakness, never realized she cared about how others perceived her until she determined that all she needed was to let it all out.

Instead of following her heart, Byleth only said, “I’m alright,” and repressed her dread once more.

She didn’t have to look at Claude to know that he was sizing her up. She could feel his gaze on her, looking her up and down multiple times. It left her feeling a touch exposed and she shifted somewhat uncomfortably, nodding her head a bit so the hair that was pushed behind her ear fell forward and covered a small portion of her profile.

“You’re still keeping up on the battlefield but it’ll catch up to you eventually.” He was stating the obvious again and she really wished he would stop doing that. “Also — and I take no joy in saying this — you’re starting to look like death.” It was half of a joke, a slight edge to his tone.

Byleth scoffed, finally turning her head to look at him. He was one to talk. It was easy to miss in the times when he was shouting commands at his soldiers during battle or putting on his cheery front around the monastery. But looking at him then in the enclosing twilight displayed his true self: a forced smile, dark circles under his eyes, a few too many stray hairs left ignored too close to his otherwise primly trimmed beard. He looked tired, so tired. Byleth knew that he was, not just physically, but mentally as well.

Claude filled her in on the details shortly after the entirety of the Golden Deer house reunited on the morning of the monastery’s one thousandth year anniversary. He had become Duke Riegan at the ripe age of nineteen, had to officially take the place of his late grandfather as leader of the Leicester Alliance. Not only that, but he’d managed to strategize tactical infighting within the Alliance in order to maintain a neutral stance in the war, allowing the nation to avoid being pushed onto the frontlines.

He had worked tirelessly for five long years, without Byleth’s support, and a phantom dagger plunged into her chest as she took in the sight of his heavy pine green eyes.

“You should take your own advice. You look quite dreadful yourself.”

Byleth only worried that she had been too brusque after the words passed her lips but Claude showed no signs of offense. He let out a small laugh and didn’t disagree. He turned away and looked up at the sky, mouth softening until he was no longer smiling. Byleth followed his gaze and appreciated the shared view.

Minutes passed in silence, neither of them having anything in particular they wanted to say.

Claude was the one to break the quiet. “Never would’ve thought things would turn out like this.” His tone was detached despite his position.

He didn’t specify what he was referring to but Byleth understood without his guidance. “She’s wrong.”

She hadn’t said her name but Claude, too, required no explanation. “Is she?”

Byleth sensed Claude’s hesitation and she looked back at him, surprised, not only because of his stalled response but also his unexpected perspective. He kept his focus on the sky that was only growing darker with each second that ticked by, his expression vacant.

She wasn’t given the chance to ask him to explain. “Her methods definitely leave a bad taste in my mouth but I’m not opposed to her end goal.” Claude paused and his stony guise hinted at cracking; his throat moved as he swallowed and his eyes narrowed, as if he had unwittingly stared into the light of a blazing fire. His voice was no more than a whisper. “I’m not so different from her, am I?”

Byleth’s prior concerns evaporated, becoming nothing more than an echo as he finished his confession. Her breath caught in her throat. The veil Claude had upheld finally shattered, falling to pieces in slow motion before her. His eyes squeezed shut, brows knitting tightly and his lips pressed into a hard line. She had never seen him look so _vulnerable, _not before her sleep and no time during the past few months since reuniting after her awakening. He looked like he had given up. She knew that he hadn’t, knew that he never would, but nonetheless, the feeling was real and existed somewhere within the deepest crevices of his soul. He had invited her to see that part of him, that weakness. How long had he been struggling with it?

Byleth felt her stomach coil, could do nothing but reach up and grip the clothing on his upper arm, clenching it in reassurance not only for his sake, but for her own as well.

“You’re not Edelgard.” She stated gently, taking his place as being the one who pointed out the obvious. “You’re you.”

Her words felt frail. They weren’t anything special, didn’t feel like they harbored the correct connotation to properly encourage him. Still, his eyes fluttered open and he looked at her. His face was stiff, too many strained lines present on his otherwise handsome features. He looked so much older than he was. Byleth wanted to grab his face and ease away the tangible tension with the pads of her thumbs. Her hands were free and his face was close. She could.

Just as Byleth was about to release her grip on him and lift both of her hands to his cheeks, Claude leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.

She froze, eyes going wide at his touch.

What was happening? No, she knew what was happening — what she didn’t understand was _why? _Claude was kissing her, rotated his entire body so he was facing her, holding her in place at the shoulders. His fingers squeezed tightly, the heat from his palms feeling like it could burn her and leave a mark. In spite of their proximity, she could sense that the stress that had settled on his face was ebbing away, could feel his lips become less taut.

Then, his eyelids trembled and his eyes flitted half-open.

At first, Claude held her gaze, or rather, he looked right through her. His stare was unfocused, hazy, as though he were hypnotized. But no more than a second later, he blinked, actually saw the mint green of Byleth’s eyes. His mouth moved off of hers and he released her shoulders, raising his hands up like he was surrendering. He took a long step away, distancing himself.

“I, uh, I don’t— don’t know what that was.” He stammered, looking everywhere but her face. It was the opposite for Byleth; she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She took in the way his cheeks were dusted a subtle red, the tips of his ears matching perfectly. It was another look she had never seen on him before.

Claude ran a hand through his hair nervously, more words spilling out of him in an uncontrollable rush. “I’m sorry. You're right, I should take my own advice. I think— I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

He immediately moved to leave, pivoting so he could face the entryway that led back inside but Byleth was faster. She took a long stride toward him, reached out a hand and grabbed him by his cravat. Only half of a confused noise from Claude was able to meet the air — the rest of it became lost in Byleth’s mouth when she forced his lips back onto hers.

It was Claude’s turn to freeze but unlike Byleth, he was immobile for only a heartbeat. He placed his hands on the undersides of her cheeks, lifting her face to give himself easier access. Byleth kept her hand on his cravat, holding him close.

Eventually, they parted and Byleth let the cloth she held onto slip from her fingers. Claude still cradled her face but he eased the pressure he applied. His eyes searched hers, looking for something that Byleth was unsure even existed within her.

She wouldn’t have described herself as “feeling nothing” — she was acutely aware of the tingling that coursed through every nerve in her body, the warm static playing at her lips where Claude’s own had been — but she felt light. Floaty. Like all of her worries and fears had been washed away. In that moment, she cared about nothing but the closeness of Claude’s body, the warmth that radiated off of him and enveloped her entirely, the feeling of his mouth over hers. She wanted to feel it again.

Despite her greed, Byleth lifted a hand and pushed her hair behind her ear. She took a small step back and Claude’s hands fell to his sides. She met his gaze for only an instant — “Sleep well, Claude.” — before she rushed off of the terrace, raced no one but herself back to her room, all the while keeping her fingers pressed to her lips, trying to trap the sensation of his kiss.

Byleth felt that she could allow herself to sleep that night, having forgotten her fear of waking up five years too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this because I realized that nearly every time I write about these two, it's during the game, before they form a relationship. I started thinking about how I could "hook them up" during moments in the game & uh well *points at the angst tag* RIP I guess.
> 
> as you can see, this is three chapters long. I'll upload the two remaining chapters over the next two weeks.
> 
> anyway, thanks if you made it this far! I hope you enjoyed & are maybe looking forward to the rest?!


	2. Cresting

After their encounter on the terrace, Byleth and Claude resumed their usual routines in the following weeks. Neither of them made mention of the incident but their failure to do so wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. They talked as they always had, depended on each other on the battlefield as per their unparalleled trust transcribed.

They fell back into step, taking up their duties as commander and his aid, the burning of a kiss ghosting over their lips and lingering in the backs of their minds all the while.

*

It was on the first Sunday of the Great Tree Moon when Marianne approached Byleth, requesting her assistance in sword training. A heavy pressure had weighed on the entire army since capturing the Great Bridge of Myrddin, the unspoken knowledge that a deciding battle was taking shape in the very near future. Marianne was well-versed in the magical arts, and while she was able to wield a blade quite deftly compared to the average mage, she explained that she wanted to be better prepared for the upcoming march.

Byleth had no excuse or right to refuse her when her reasoning was so pure and honest; she led the way to the training grounds with not only Marianne trailing behind her, but Hilda as well.

It wasn’t as though Byleth was intentionally keeping a watch on the pair, but it had become impossible to notice their sudden familiarity in the more recent weeks. Wherever Marianne went, if Hilda knew, she followed — not like a lost puppy, but like a concerned significant other. Marianne was more discreet about her tailing, but she always seemed to keep Hilda within eyeshot. When they walked together, their shoulders would touch. Byleth never failed to miss the way the back of Hilda’s hand would bump into Marianne’s, how a finger or two of theirs would intertwine into a backwards hand hold.

It was the small things like that that made it clear to Byleth: they found solace in each other’s company in the midst of conflict. They helped each other cope, provided a sense of peace and a way to, if only temporarily, forget about the horrors of war.

Byleth recalled her unplanned rendezvous with Claude, when he had kissed her, when she kissed him back and how she felt when she did so. Her head had spun and her limbs buzzed with tranquility. Her nagging fears had dwindled away simultaneously, as if they were never there to begin with.

She thought back to how Claude had allowed himself to be unguarded, let her see each and every one of the individual broken pieces that made him whole. She saw again, in her mind’s eye, the way the pain that had tarnished his beauty faded away into nothingness.

She realized then that she still didn’t know the true reason why he had kissed in her the first place. But if he felt the way she had — if the way he had relaxed the moment his mouth greeted hers was any clue, if he had arrived at the same conclusion Byleth had during the days in which neither of them spoke a word of the incident — then the answer to her question had been with her the entire time:

When Claude was kissing her, when he could feel her body pressed close against his, he, too, could forget.

*

Byleth triple checked to make sure that everyone but her and Claude had filed out of the Cardinals’ room before dropping her face into her hands, groaning loudly. It had already been a couple of months since she began assisting Claude in organizing and leading war councils but it never got any easier. She didn’t resent that she had to help — she had been the one to offer her aid, after all — but that didn’t change the fact that the meetings were only becoming longer and more mind-numbing as the war dragged on. She was exhausted, but she knew everyone else was as well, so she refrained from her complaining until she was alone with the one person who could properly empathize with her.

Claude laughed lightly at her defeated whine. “I know that feeling.” Byleth peeked at him through her hands to where he sat diagonally across from her, just over the corner of the long table. He set down the quill he had been using to mark up a map of Fódlan with and rolled a shoulder. “Hanging in there?”

She removed her hands from her face, set one down palm up in the small space between herself and Claude. “Being thrown into the position of a professor was… surprisingly manageable.” She admitted, reflecting on her life five years prior. She winced, comparing it to her current life. “But commanding an entire army is…”

Byleth trailed off, unable to find a word that was both accurate and appropriate to describe her feelings. She wasn’t given much of a chance to ponder around for one either; Claude’s gloved hand slipped into hers. He squeezed gently, thumb rubbing over hers in slow, careful motions.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m proud of you, my friend.” His voice was quiet and when Byleth looked at him, she was unsurprised to find him staring at her blankly.

No, it wasn’t a blank stare. She recognized it well, regardless of the fact that she had only ever seen it but one time in the past, many weeks ago. Half-lidded eyes, mildly unfocused and cloudy. His sight flicked downward, to her mouth, and Byleth would have missed the subtle change had she not been watching him as closely as she was.

She knew what Claude wanted. She wanted it too. They hadn’t spoken of it since it happened but Byleth knew by the way he eyed her in passing, knew by the way he would sometimes put his fingers to his lips and stroke them thoughtfully as he schemed, knew by the weariness she had seen returning to his face over the course of their silent solidarity.

He wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to_ forget. _

Byleth’s complaints about council retired somewhere far off as she and Claude leaned across the table in unison, closing the small space between them and meeting in the middle with a quick kiss.

“I’m proud of you too.” She said when she settled back into her chair, blessing him with one of her tiny, rare smiles.

Claude looked a tad confused but mirrored her expression anyway. “Oh?” His tone was light, almost crossing the line and transforming into full on teasing. “Whatever for?”

His hand still held onto hers and she secured her grip on it. “Five years ago, I never would have considered you the leader type, let alone an army commander or a duke.”

Byleth looked back at how Claude acted as a young adult: laid back, relaxed, almost entirely carefree. She knew enough about him at present to see that his easy attitude was mostly just for show, but that only added to her list of reasons why it had always been difficult for her to picture him as a commander.

He had been the leader of the Golden Deer house at Garreg Mach and while he did have a staggering wealth of charisma, he lacked the honor and — dare she admit it — respect from his classmates that his fellow house leaders displayed round the clock. It altered her perception of the future Duke Riegan, to say the least.

Byleth contemplated his story that he had shared with her upon reuniting, recollected all of his struggles that he faced head on after inheriting the Dukedom.

He had grown so strong in her absence. Without her. Byleth bit back a grimace.

“But seeing you now…” She continued, at first saying it more to the table than to him. “I’m proud of you.”

She met Claude’s gaze once again, her smile gone. She had put all of the feelings she held into that single phrase and she wondered if he understood. Words had never been one of Byleth’s strong points; speaking with the swinging of swords was the form of communication she was most comfortable with.

Claude looked at her for a long moment, his beam also absent. She watched the way his broad chest expanded with every breath he took, felt the way his hold on her hand loosened as the last bits of tension in his body faded away.

“I have you to thank for that.”

His voice was hushed, so low but it hit Byleth with a resounding crack, like an arrow was fired at her from close range. The heat seared from her chest to the tips of her toes, the remorse that accompanied it gnawing at her arms and legs as powerfully as a beast’s bite.

Byleth knew it hadn’t been his intention, knew that he had no way of knowing that she was in the process of reprimanding herself for having done nothing for five whole years. But the anxiety was settling in, churning in her stomach, tearing out all of her insides from her throat.

She hadn’t done anything for him. She had been asleep. She had abandoned everyone. She had abandoned _ him. _She…

She wanted to forget.

Byleth rose from her spot, stepped around the corner of the table and into Claude’s space. He reacted instantly, as if he had read her mind, and pushed himself back while staying in the chair, swiveling it so his legs were no longer under the table.

He remained seated, leaned back as Byleth put her hands on his shoulders, bent over, and kissed him forcefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. uh. this is a week late. but uh. I can explain. *holds up my Switch* FE16 Wave 3 DLC came out on the day I was supposed to update with the second chapter. ever since then, I have been extremely distracted by Claude's butler Butt & Byleth's exposed legs. forgive me. (also I lost confidence in this fic after uploading the first chapter but I already finished the entire fic prior to that so. here we are.)
> 
> ANYWAY.
> 
> *waves the angst tag around* are you feeling it NOW, Mr. Krabs?! did I mention that the “working title” for this fic was “Byleth gets frisky”? well, that was the working title oof. thanks if you made it this far! I hope you’re looking forward to the finale! I know I’m not!


	3. Crashing

The battle at Gronder Field was nothing short of a nightmare.

There were familiar faces everywhere she turned and some of those faces had names, voices and personalities to go with them. Byleth barely needed to scratch below the surface of her memories to recall entire conversations she had with some of them.

Bernadetta almost never left her room but Byleth would allow herself the time to knock on her door every now and again to ask how she was doing.

Sylvain had always been a gargantuan flirt, flitting about the monastery and chatting up any girl who would spare him a glance. Even as a professor, Byleth wasn’t relieved from his advances.

She wished she could have gotten to know the both of them better.

Instead, their blood stained the blade of her sword as she took their lives.

Byleth could feel the heavy atmosphere around her like it was a physical weight trying to stomp her into the ground. She knew that every soldier who had joined the battle and made it back alive could feel the same pressure. As they unloaded their cargo the evening they returned to Garreg Mach, their faces were groggy, eyes downcast. They moved at a snail’s pace, fatigued not only in their bodies, but in their minds as well. Even those who had stayed behind to defend the monastery were beginning to become affected by the grim ambience, as though it was a highly contagious disease; the normally upbeat and cheery gatekeeper was unable to hold even the faintest of smiles as Byleth approached. They exchanged nods but nothing more.

She took a shortcut through the dining hall on her way back to her room when she spotted Claude in the courtyard. Byleth considered calling out to him, went so far as opening her mouth but her voice failed her when she actually _ looked _ at him.

He was staring straight ahead of him into the mossy green hedge he stood before, face lacking even the slightest hint of emotion. It wouldn’t have made the first time she caught him absentmindedly gazing into nothing of importance, but during those times he had at least been thinking, strategizing. It was easy to spot the difference because his cheek would twitch in a steady rhythm as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, an interesting habit he had developed over the years. Standing before her in that moment, he was like a statue, almost as if he had been transported somewhere far, far away and could see nothing but darkness.

He didn’t let it show when they emerged from the battle victorious, said that they couldn’t lose heart despite the lives they had stolen. But Claude was as human as everybody else who had seen the fight firsthand, whether he was a commander or not. He was feeling the effects of the fight.

And commander or not, they had both been just as close to having their own lives ripped away from them.

Marianne and the other Alliance bishops had done an exceptional job patching up their wounds on-site; Byleth’s only remaining ache was in her leg. It was the most serious injury she had received, having been slashed by the end of a lance. The rest of her wounds, while numerous, were minor enough on their own to be mended easily. Byleth was admittedly unsure of the gravity of Claude’s wounds aside from the gash on his forehead but it had become nothing more than a thin cut from the result of Marianne’s treatment. Still...

Byleth swallowed and strode over to him carefully.

“Hey.” She greeted him softly and it took too long for him to react.

He blinked after an uncomfortable amount of time had passed and finally faced her. Byleth almost worried her lip when she saw his eyes. They were tormented, exhausted, and so, so _ sad. _

Regardless, Claude smiled. But it was too relaxed. “Ah, it’s you. Did you need something?”

An unpleasant feeling filled her lungs when she inhaled. It was a burning, irritating sensation. She tried to push it away but it was tenacious and managed to linger. “No, but you look like you could use help settling down. I can prepare us tea, if you’d like?”

Because of his smile, because of the way he seemed to pretend everything was alright, Byleth expected him to refuse. Even though he had let his guard down around her a number of times before, Claude still had a tendency to keep to himself.

She was astonished when he actually complied after a second of consideration. “You’re always the one making me tea. Let me host you today.” It was his clumsy way of inviting her over but since he wasn’t technically wrong and since she had no reason to reject him, Byleth simply nodded.

He headed out of the courtyard before her so Byleth took the opportunity to return to her own quarters for a brief stop. She would have liked to have taken a quick bath to clean herself up but she knew that the baths would be busy after such a strenuous fight and she didn’t want to keep Claude waiting. Byleth stripped off her war attire and replaced them with a clean pair of shorts and a plain shirt before heading back outside and toward the staircase that led to the second floor dormitory rooms. 

Claude’s room was at the far end of the hall, and while Byleth had felt as fine as anyone could after a battle like the one at Gronder Field, the closer she got to his room, the higher the overwhelming sense of dread within her chest soared.

Everyone was feeling the aftermath of the fight. Everyone was tired and longed for comfort.

Everyone wanted to _ forget. _

Byleth thought about how Claude looked as he stared into the thorny hedge, how dull his eyes were when he met her gaze. His easy smile…

Something was wrong.

She stood outside of his quarters, taking in two deep breaths before she lifted her fist and hesitantly tapped on the door with her knuckles.

She could talk with him over tea, encourage him that it was safe to let her in. She didn’t fancy herself as a counselor but she was always willing to listen to anyone who needed it. She was his friend. She could help him. She could help him like she helped others, without having to resort to putting her mouth over his. She could help him without either of them forgetting the pressing issues at hand.

The door opened and Claude stood on the other side. Byleth avoided looking at his face when she stepped into his living area, opting instead to peek past him and at his desk—

His desk that was missing a teapot and tea cups.

Byleth wasn’t given the chance to blink; the door slammed shut behind her as she was forcibly pushed against it. She gasped and Claude took advantage of her open mouth, kissing her deeply.

Not one of their past kisses had ever been so harsh, so _ hungry. _ And not one of them had ever felt so _ good. _

Byleth hated how swiftly her resolve crumbled because of it, how briskly her determination to avoid making use of their secret tactic fell apart at the seams. She was dizzy, felt like she was drowning and she was unable to resurface to reality when one of Claude’s hands ran down her thigh and hitched her mended leg over his hip.

She couldn’t pinpoint when she had started to reciprocate his mouth’s movements or when she had started clawing at his back, wanting him closer, _ closer. _

Then, out of nowhere, something came to her. An inkling. A voice. _ His _ voice. It was distorted, like she was hearing it from under the planet’s crust. The forefront of her mind couldn’t decipher what his phantom voice was trying to say, didn’t care enough to when Claude’s mouth moved off of hers and traveled south to the pulse of her neck, when the hand that wasn’t holding her leg in place against his side fondled her left breast through her shirt. Her subconscious, however, could hear it clearly, forced the words out of her through her shallow panting.

“We have to— take pride in our... victory...”

Byleth didn’t feel herself say it, didn’t even hear her own voice but somehow she knew that she had spoken. They were the words Claude had said when the last traces of the Kingdom and Imperial armies fled from Gronder Field. They were the words he had said when they themselves could have lost their lives.

She shouldn’t have ignored it. She shouldn’t have forgotten it. With all of the people sacrificed from all three sides, all of the blood shed in order to secure a brighter future for Fódlan, it was immoral to pretend that it didn’t happen. It was irresponsible. It was wrong to forget as much as it was wrong to continue using Claude as a means to shut out her problems.

But Byleth’s fingers carded through his hair, messing it, trying to tug his head back up to hers. He followed her pull, but not before the hand that was squeezing her breast slipped under her shirt; he flattened it as best he could between her breasts and rubbed her chest languidly.

A sound that was comparable to a growl tore from his throat, voice low and rumbling.

_ “Not now.” _

She found herself agreeing with him, repeating his words when his lips ghosted over hers again. Except she was starkly aware of the scent wafting off of them both. Dirt, sweat and blood. It invaded her nostrils and filled her lungs. She could taste it on her tongue and it caused her stomach to heave. It stung her eyes and made them water. The smell of murder and death was making it far too difficult for her to forget. She wanted to forget.

She wanted to forget, she wanted to forget, _ she wanted to forget _—

Ultimately, despite the agonizing twisting and thrashing in her core, Byleth’s desires proved victorious; her desperate want for Claude’s mouth to kiss every inch of her body muted the tortured cries that begged for what she truly _ needed, _ whether she had the capacity of admitting it in that moment or not.

_ I can’t forget. I mustn’t forget. _

*

They had successfully captured Fort Merceus, or rather, what was left of it.

Javelins of Light, as they had started referring to them as, fell from the heavens and annihilated the entire fortress is a matter of minutes. Had the Death Knight not warned them of the impending danger, had she chosen not to listen to her enemy’s words and failed to order her troops to retreat, the entire Alliance army would have…

Byleth pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back in her desk chair. She didn’t want to think about the “what ifs”. She had to focus on what transpired in reality. She had to determine how to properly prepare for their next march should the same disaster repeat itself.

She wouldn’t allow herself to forget.

There was a knock on her door and she didn’t need to open it to know who stood on the other side. She rose from her chair and invited Claude into the low light of her quarters, offering him to sit in her chair as she took the spot on her bed.

They didn't have many opportunities to speak one on one since their encounter after the battle at Gronder Field. When it was decided that the army’s next move was to capture Fort Merceus, Claude began scheming in earnest and spent most of his time alone, keeping whatever he had planned under wraps from everyone, Byleth included.

While she had quickly grown to miss their friendly banter, a part of her was relieved. The first time they had kissed, it had been so easy to make no mention of it. It was a chaste, pure thing. It lacked the vitality needed to hang over them like a haunting thunder cloud. But their kiss — _ many _ kisses — from nearly one month ago had never stopped slicing into Byleth’s skin.

In all of the times Byleth had talked to Claude, examined him, kissed him, she had never once asked what his thoughts about their situation were. She had never even considered asking, assumed since the beginning that he sought an escape from the war. And in turn, he never made an attempt at picking her brain either. She liked to believe that they could size each other up at a glance, but maybe that had only been her imagination. All she could determine with certainty was her own stance on the matter: it couldn't go on. She couldn’t forget anymore. She couldn’t keep using him as she was.

But the mixture of disquiet and her damned _ desires _began stirring in the pit of her stomach again when Claude’s head dropped into one of his hands, a dark laugh passing his lips.

“We could’ve died.” His voice held no qualm.

Byleth shook her head, her gaze refusing to leave him. “We didn’t.”

“We could have _ died, _ Byleth! Not just us, but the Almyrans too!” Claude shot a glare at her, the hand that held his face waving out beside him. He was yelling, but she knew his frustrations weren’t directed at her, but himself. He had been the one to concoct his “golden scheme” on his own, he had been the one who requested the Almyran army’s aid for the assault.

He was blaming himself for what he perceived as him nearly giving his allies an early grave.

The hand he had tossed out to his side returned to his lap. His glare softened a touch, but the aching and guilt remained perceptible in his eyes. “I don’t want any of my allies to die, especially because of something as— as _ insane _as Javelins of Light, falling from the sky!” Claude lowered his face into both of his hands that time. His fingers curled in his hair, making fists so hard that his knuckles turned white.

There was a brief silence between them and Byleth tried to think about what to say, how to properly handle his heartache. If she had been able to conjure up something appropriate, she lost it entirely when she heard Claude’s voice again, cracking, breaking, his words said through a trembling croak.

“But you… I can’t lose you. _ Not again.” _

Byleth’s breath hitched, the realization feeling like it had slapped her. Her heart plummeted into her stomach and a throbbing lump formed in her throat. The inside of her nose burned and the backs of her eyes were set aflame. She stared at Claude who remained unmoving, absorbed the sight of just how shaken and vulnerable he looked, curled in on himself as he was.

She wondered if he looked that way when she had disappeared five years ago.

She supposed that she had no way of knowing for certain.

He had always acted so strong, so unnerved by her lack of presence. He had accomplished so much by himself. When she reunited with him atop the Goddess Tower, he spoke as if there was no doubt in his mind that she would return. But that had been on _ that _ day. What about every day before? What about the _ very day _ she vanished? How much had he suffered in the wake of her absence? How much was he _ still _ suffering?

She had misread him. Misread the ways he looked at her, misread the cause for his vulnerability, misread the meanings behind his words and actions. The entire time, she had been mistaken.

The reason why Claude had kissed her that first time hadn’t been because he was trying to forget the war specifically. It was almost poetic — it was nearly identical to the reason why Byleth went to the terrace that same evening, as she fought off sleep.

He was scared that she would leave him. He was scared of the fact that she already had.

Every time he kissed her, he was trying to cope with all that he feared.

Byleth rose, took slow steps toward where Claude sat, hunched over in the chair. He was unbelievably still and she wondered if he was even breathing. When she finally stood before him, she wanted nothing more than to reach out, cradle his head against her chest and smooth out his hair.

But it was impossible to escape. The feeling clung to her bones and threatened every rational thought in her mind, like a poison. It clouded her vision, blinding her completely, save for the image of Claude positioned above her before he descended and captured her lips with his own.

It was wrong. But she knew what he needed. She needed it too.

Byleth placed her hands on his, carefully pried his calloused fingers out of his hair. She held them in her own in the space between them, running her thumbs over the joints. He had successfully messed up the neat, combed back style of his hair; most of his fringe fell to his forehead.

“I’m still here.” She whispered, just loud enough to be heard. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Byleth wouldn’t leave him. She would help him. She would carve her touch into his very being, a vow that she would never abandon him again. She wouldn’t make him forget the war. She would only allow him to forget that she had ever left his side. She was the only one who could save him from his fears. She was the hidden card up his sleeve. She was his friend. She was the one who…

Claude inhaled both visibly and audibly, his shoulders and back rising with the deep intake of oxygen. He stilled again but it didn’t last long. He angled his head back and looked at Byleth.

Had she not been under the influence of her desires, she would have collapsed in anguish at seeing his glossy eyes and the slightest of quivers on his lower lip.

But she _ was _ under the influence; she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his unsteady lips.

It started like the kisses they shared on the terrace, innocent and sweet, rose into the one Byleth gave him in the Cardinals’ room, desperate and motivated. And then it crested into the dozens of kisses they forced onto each other behind closed doors in his room, hungry and carnal.

Byleth didn’t know when Claude had risen to his feet but he was pushing her backwards, kissing her all the while. She felt her bed press against the backs of her calves and when Claude shoved her onto the mattress, she didn’t struggle.

He was on top of her in an instant, kissing her lips, her neck, wherever his mouth could reach. One of his hands lifted the hem of her shirt, his palm burning the newly exposed flesh of her waist while the other made a fist beside her head as he balanced himself above her on his forearm. Byleth bent her knees up on either side of him, trapping him between her thighs.

She loved how warm he was, loved the feeling of him touching every part of her all at once with his heat. She loved how little space there was between them, loved how nothing could tear them apart.

She loved how close he was.

But it wasn’t enough.

She needed him to be closer.

Closer.

_ Closer— _

His clothes, she realized. His clothes were in the way, a thin but vexing barrier that kept them from truly being as close as they could have been to each other. She was pleased that he hadn’t been wearing his coat when he invited himself over, it made one less layer to discard.

Byleth reached for his cravat with both hands and hastily untied it, tossing it somewhere to the side. She popped open the buttons of his shirt, one by one from top to bottom, dragged her nails from his toned abdomen all the way up to the dark hairs on his chest.

Claude shuddered, moaning into her mouth as he rolled his hips once into hers.

She needed him to make that sound again. Needed to hear him _ forget _ that she had ever been away from him.

She trailed a hand back down his torso, past his navel, aiming for the spot between his legs—

Something grabbed her wrist, yanking it away and holding it in front of her chest before she could reach her destination. Byleth blinked hazily, not yet fully understanding what had happened. She only registered that Claude’s mouth was no longer anywhere on her when she saw his lips, swollen and parted a few inches away from hers as he panted.

He caught his breath a few seconds longer. And finally—

“This needs to stop.”

Byleth blinked again, once, twice. And then, like a wave crashing into the shore, she was grounded, could see everything clearly as the poison in her mind dissipated. She looked at her wrist, caught in Claude’s powerful grasp. His shirt ripped open, thin scratch marks made by her nails running down the skin of his chest and stomach. His eyes staring into hers, dark and filled with lust, but focused and in control.

Byleth jolted, chest heaving. She pushed herself up on her elbows and Claude backed off at once. He moved to sit on the edge of her bed after reaching for his cravat that had been discarded next to them, shoving it into his pocket. Byleth copied his position, adjusting her shirt and pulling it back down over her belly. He had fixed up his own shirt as she did so, leaving only the top two buttons undone.

They sat in relative silence for a handful of minutes, still heavily breathing in the aftermath of their exchange, needing to cool off.

“I’m sorry.” Byleth decided on saying, not even able to spare Claude a glance.

She was ashamed of herself, knew that she had been in the midst of making a terrible mistake. She had been reprimanding herself for an entire month that they couldn’t continue using that tactic. And yet, she resorted to it anyway and used him in a moment of his defenselessness, so that he — no, _ she _ — might feel better. He didn’t deserve such treatment. Byleth felt horrible, wanted to take it back more than anything else.

But Claude laughed airily, pushing his messy hair back. “I should be the one apologizing. It’s just… this— _ doing _ this, how we are… it’s not right.”

Byleth let herself peek at him then. The darkness in his eyes had expired and his hair, while still a bit disheveled here and there, was set back into place. His small smile was easy, but not painfully so. He looked how he always did.

“I’ve… been scared. Scared that one of these days, I’ll turn around and you’ll be gone again.” He was finally opening up, finally explaining his perspective about all they had been engaging in. “But when we do… _ this, _ it helps. I stop thinking about how you disappeared and the years I spent without you. It was an easy way out and it felt right, at first. Good, even. But before long, even that turned into fear, because I knew I would lose something invaluable… I don’t ever want to forget the _ faith _ that told me you would return. It’s… what kept me going, kept pushing me towards my dream. I can’t lose you again. I’m… _ afraid _ of losing you again, but if you did disappear, I want to remember having that faith.” She quaked at his choice of word: _ remember. _ “While I have some ideas, I need to know. Tell me, my friend, what have we been doing all this time? What is this to you? What are you afraid of?”

Byleth explained everything; her fear of falling asleep for another five years and waking up only to find her friends’ corpses, her guilt from having actually abandoned them for so long, her selfish want to rid the war from her mind when she knew that she shouldn’t have, and her festering need to use Claude’s mouth as a means to forget every last one of her problems. She said it all at once, including her misinterpretations of his own intentions and her struggle of knowing how no part of what they were doing was right. He didn’t interrupt her, just listened silently, watching her thoughtfully until he was sure that she had finished her speech.

“So that’s what it was…” He mumbled, not to her nor himself. He was looking at the ceiling, hands in his lap and one of his thumbnails scratching at the other. His cheek twitched in a steady rhythm as he pondered something. “That explains what you said.” He added, again to no one in particular.

Byleth was about to ask what he was thinking about but Claude answered her before she could. “In my room, after we fought at Gronder Field.” He smiled at her but it quickly failed him, morphing into a grimace. “Sorry about that, by the way. I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off, stared at his hands which had stilled and Byleth understood.

“It’s alright. I was encouraging you as much as you were me.” She paused, considered their circumstances at Gronder Field, reevaluated the off-kilter smile he had given her, actually thought about _ where _ he had touched her that night. “We almost died then, too. You were afraid… You were making sure I was alive.”

“Ridiculous, really. You were right in front of me… and I know you don’t have a heartbeat.”

“But I have a pulse.”

“Yeah.” Claude ran a hand through his hair again, scratched at the nape of his neck. “Ha, even after all this, my head’s still a mess. It’s not easy to think clearly in the heat of war, is it?”

That time, when he smiled at her, it touched his eyes. It was the first genuine smile Byleth had seen on him in weeks. She almost breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar sight.

It felt strange, having finally communicated with him about their situation whilst using actual words instead of kisses to confide in each other. For the past few months, Byleth had been drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into her bottomless dread. But in that moment, she had resurfaced and was floating once more.

Claude pushed himself to a stand and did up the remaining buttons of his shirt. “I won’t ask you to pretend this never happened. The gods know I won’t be able to.” He said it lightly, a bit of a tease in his tone to mask how serious he really was. “But don’t hold it against me?” He looked down at her from over his shoulder, flashing his teeth at her.

With the way he towered above Byleth from where she remained seated on her bed, with the way the soft light from the candles on her desk opposite of him framed his form like a halo, Claude looked like he was glowing.

Byleth returned his smile. “I would never.” It was a promise.

They held each other’s gaze for a second longer before Claude turned and made his way to leave. Byleth stood, moving behind him to see him out but when he grabbed the door handle, he hesitated.

He spun back around, facing her. Byleth tilted her head a fraction of an inch as she looked into his eyes, reading him. He was tired, she could tell, but there was more in his eyes than just exhaustion. Unwavering resolution.

In an instant, Claude entered her space and Byleth almost reflexively pushed him away — no _ way _ were they going to relapse only minutes after they had found common ground. But his lips went nowhere near hers; instead, Byleth felt his arms move around her back and he pulled her into a careful embrace. One of his hands went to the back of her head, stroking her hair tenderly.

She was still for a few breaths, her mind needing time to process that there was no alternative motive to his hug. Eventually, she relaxed in his arms, lifted her own around his back and returned the hold. She closed her eyes when she angled her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

He was warm, comforting, like he always had been.

They parted at the same time, arms returning to their sides but one of Claude’s hands lingered near Byleth’s cheek and he pushed some of her hair behind her ear. She felt her face heat up a touch at his intimate gesture and just about looked to her feet.

But she didn’t look away, couldn’t look away, not from Claude’s face that lit up so radiantly, brighter than it had been in weeks. Like the full moon pulling the tide, he naturally guided her and illuminated her way out of the darkness.

“Sleep well, my friend.”

And Byleth knew that she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before anything, I want to say thanks to everyone who left a nice comment on Chapter 2. I mentioned in my notes that I lost confidence in this fic, mostly in regards to Chapter 3, as I felt I bit off way more than I could chew, so the positive reception & excitement for this update was really appreciated ; ; thank you! you’re all wonderful <3
> 
> I didn’t use the word “remember” once in this entire fic until Claude said it hahah. also that speech had roughly 20+ renditions & I’m still not totally satisfied with it. I wanted it to address what they had done & how they were regressing, while also being a bit of a love confession, but I didn’t want it to ACTUALLY mention everything that needed to be addressed; it would sound super stilted & unnatural if it did. all in all, war does things to people.
> 
> but good god this fic was hard to write while trying to keep Claude’s thoughts in mind but knowing I had to write strictly from Byleth’s ignorant POV who was misinterpreting everything, while ALSO trying to lead readers in the wrong direction. so I hope this made at least some sense in the end, criess
> 
> I wonder a lot about how Claude could have felt after Byleth vanished. he spilled his soul out to someone for the first time, said their hearts were connected, but then that same someone he opened up to potentially died the very next day. no matter how much faith Claude had in Byleth, no matter how deeply he truly believed in his own words about meeting her again, receiving news that she disappeared & living with that silence for Five fucking Years… idk, even to someone as unbound to common sense as Claude, I think something like that would get to anyone & leave them pretty damn shaken. even when Byleth got sucked into Zahras or whatever, Claude said he broke out into a cold sweat, so he is capable of getting spooked by shit like that, he just doesn’t let it show because he knows that showing he’s scared negatively impacts morale.
> 
> thank you so much if you made it to the end! I hope you enjoyed! ...but I understand if you didn’t because uh, yikes amiright. if anyone cares, the next Claude/Byleth fic I post will be a two-shot. it’s much softer than this mess & has some light humor with cute fluffy crap. so heck yeah


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